


Forces Beyond Salvation

by DixieFriday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieFriday/pseuds/DixieFriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels fall literally trapped in strange, biological bodies. Those that survive are mown down by waiting demons.</p><p>  Except for one.</p><p>  Confused and alone, the angel is caught and clumsily presented to the King of Hell. </p><p>  He finds, unwilling to give answers, unable to remember much with the limitations of a mortal mind, and frightened for the first time in her life she makes one Hell of a delicious toy.</p><p>  “Don't say anything you'll regret. No exorcisms. Be a good little angel for Daddy and maybe you'll get to live.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hell You've Made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowley fans](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Crowley+fans).



> I'm going to age myself but I haven't written fanfiction since the last Star Wars movie. This isn't beta'd. It's just me having a ton of fun writing some seriously questionable fan fic. 
> 
> Only read if you enjoy the darker side of fan fiction.
> 
> Oh and I don't own any of these characters. Although if I did I'd keep Dean Winchester on a leash in my room.
> 
> I welcome feedback and even requests because I'm doing this a chapter at a time and if something strikes my fancy I may even start another fic based on requests. (I'm an INTP. We're like the distractable monkeys of authors.)
> 
> This is basically a teaser opening chapter, but I'm still writing along.

Alive. I was alive. 

Staggering, bleeding from a dozen places, but none of that registered over the blinding pain of my broken wings. One wing hung, dragging behind me, the other wing still moved. I guessed it was fractured, but I could still hold it up off the floor. I could beat it feebly, but one broken wing does not flight give. If I even could fly. I'd never been locked like this. My wings had never been flesh and blood. This was nothing like being in a vessel. This was a million times worse. 

I kept moving because ahead the craggy mountainous hills of the place echoed with screaming and a sort of popping noise, then a thunderous crash now and again. The screaming of my brothers and sisters. It was a pure painful note. The popping?

Guns.

My brethern had come, I knew they would. All part of my fucking plan. 

The plan.

What a joke.

Gunfire and screaming were not part of it.

At least I had the ring. It was on my left...hand. Odd things, hands. 

Moving forward was slow. My body felt heavy and unfamilar. I glanced down at it for something to consider as I trudged.. Female. I was female. I tried to remember what I knew about human females. My last three vessels had been women but I hadn't possessed them for any length of time that would be helpful.

Breathing was also new and in the cold of the dessert night painful. 

Over the hill, leaving red footprints from the cuts on my feet. To keep my balance I had to watch the ground but there were too many sharp, small rocks to avoid them all.

Eventually the screaming fell silent and the ground I was dragging myself over was a wet running red.

I stopped.

When had it become bloody?

And the blood, not the deep red of humanity but a sort of shimmering red. I felt like I was looking at the drained souls of my friends. They were sticking to my feet. The absurdity, the horror made me start laughing. I knew in a sort of abstract way that I wasn't thinking clearly. Was there more than just the prison of mortal bodies then? Biological warfare on the newly biological, perhaps? But I doubted it. 

And still I drug myself forward. My laughter turned to tears, my body became too heavy to hold up, and I fell forward onto hands and knees and just watched my tears as they fell in front of me forming tiny opalescent pools around my fingers in the blood of angels.

My breathing was fast. Tiny, dim lights formed behind reality and started to expand. 

Distantly, distantly...

The pops of gunfire stopped. The occasional scream echoed. I heard people moving, calling to each other and managed to look around. Men and women in black kit, vests, cargos, the whole thing. Many of them laughing and high fiving around the bodies of the angels. A couple were yanking a few of the long flight feathers from the crumpled angels and putting them in their vest pockets. I looked away, my throat convulsed but I had nothing to vomit. Something else I'd only known from time to time overwhelmed me. Fear.

It seemed no matter what I'd done I wanted to live.

I knew I was too far from the caves and had been foolishly walking toward the angels' screams. It was just a matter of time before they noticed me here and came to finish the job. 

I tried to push myself up and discovered I couldn't. I was too weak and when I'd fallen my white feathers had become clotted with the blood of those around me, begun to dry, and stuck to the ground. And in moving to yank them free, a movement that brought agony, I drew the unwanted attention.

“One made it.” One of the men said, sounding surprised.

“Go get her. We can play with her until he gets here.” Another said, this female voice was small and light. A teenager. I hissed through my teeth. Demons. Always after the innocent.

I pushed myself up again, this time making it to my feet and moving to the fading western sun. One step. Two. Three.

There was a painful and harsh yank on my shoulder and I fell back. 

The demons laughed. I looked up and noted one of them had simply put his heavy boot down on my dragging wing and pressed it into the rock. Of more note was the fact the one who sounded like a teenager, had a pistol pointed at my face. “Should we blind her first?” She asked. “That last one was fun.” 

“I can't believe that worked.” Another said, looking out at the field of the fallen. He didn't find me as interesting as my mown down kin.

“The boss occasionally knows what he's doing.” 

“I'm going to cut off her fingers.” Another voice came and to my horror I felt someone grab my arm. A large man was holding my hand, twisted against his torso and secured in his bent elbow. He also was holding a knife. 

Baffled I blinked, then without thinking started chanting “Exorcizamus te, Omnis Immundus Spiritus...” One of them crouched and smacked me hard across the face. I felt blood fall from my lip and was about to resume the ritewhen one of them put his hand over my mouth. I bit down, but he seemed immune to the pain, no doubt letting his host feel it. 

“Cut her throat” He said. 

A knife glinted and I screamed, shoving on the arm holding me, flapping my broken wings. They laughed and then a voice...

“Stop.” 

The laughter stopped and more importantly the blade going toward my neck stopped. They were all looking off to the side or what was effectively behind me. I considered trying to twist to look, but the silence was too delicious and the relief of having the blade removed from my neck too profound. 

Moments passed and I listened to the silence. I allowed myself a moment of hoping that maybe the silence would last forever.

Shoes too expensive for the ichor soaked rock they walked on came into view, all shining black with not a trace of blood on them. I looked up and felt dread and recognition in equal parts. Crowley. The King of fucking Hell. He had three demons with him. One was slim, demure looked like an aid, the other two were almost certainly body guards. They were large and scanned the area around them incessantly. All of them looked untouched by the massacre and wore black expensive suits.

“What part of leave a few alive for questioning was I vague on?” He asked the demons holding me down. 

They all exchanged looks, then looked down at me all together. It would have been comical under other circumstances. 

“This one is alive, majesty.” The one with his hand over my mouth supplied. 

Crowley looked at me, his eyes were the only spot of color on him. A blazing red. None of them were bothering even trying to look human. 

“Indeed she is. Shall we ask her name?” He asked, turning his gaze to the man holding me, “And find out if she's worth any fucking thing at all? You didn't even try did you? Do you know what strategy is at all?”

“It does seem to have worked, Majesty.” The aid chimed in, “A hostage might not even be needed.” 

This might be bad news, I realized. Being Crowley's hostage would be one kind of problem, one I could solve. I wasn't sure I could solve being dead. There was another problem, but since I couldn't move I couldn't do much about it at the moment. 

Crowley looked back at me, “Don't say anything you'll regret. No exorcisms. Be a good little angel for Daddy and maybe you'll get to live.” He nodded to the demons holding me, “Get her to her feet, hold her. Charles, if she even so much as slightly seems to be about to speak in Latin you stab her, somewhere it hurts but not where it kills.” 

They did as he said. One on each side of me holding my arms firmly, one behind me, between my broken wings, holding his hand over my mouth. 

“Do you understand the gravity of your situation?” Crowley asked. “Nod if you do.” 

I nodded, swallowing hard. I was confused, I could see him. Or rather his vessel. The man he possessed. But I couldn't see him. I couldn't see the demon. Only the red eyes let me know what it was I was talking to and that was disquieting. 

The hand slipped from my mouth and I licked my lips. Tasting blood on them I winced. 

“What did you do to them?” I demanded, tilting my head toward the fallen.

He moved back a little, head tilting as if startled. A slight furrow appeared between his eyebrows. For a horrible moment I was afraid he knew. Then he spoke and I felt a little better, “I think I'm the one who gets to ask questions here, darling.” 

“I won't answer.” I said. 

This brought a smile to his lips that didn't even come near his eyes, “It's always best when they don't.” He walked up to me, only an inch or so taller than I was, we met eye to eye. I didn't blink, in fact I raised my chin. “You look familiar.” He said. He lifted his hand and touched my chin, as if to shift my face to examine it. I pulled back from his hand and when he reached again I spat at him.

He didn't so much as wince, instead took a step back, turned around, and walked a few paces away reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a white handkerchief, wiped his face with his back still to me, and without turning spoke, “Get her on her knees.” 

There was a kick to the back of my already weak knee and while I managed to avoid going down completely I did land on that knee. The other bent before me so I was kneeling awkwardly. One of the body guards moved forward and forcibly moved that leg down. I struggled but now with four demons holding me and my body little more than a useless human's it wasn't much of a fight. 

He turned back around, tucking the handkerchief into his pocket. He was smiling. “I don't think you understand yet. Break her arm.” 

Before I had time to register what he'd said the body guard moved and there was a hot stinging and then a flood of pain from my left forearm. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, but I didn't scream. That repression meant I felt nauseous but I'd decided to hold out as long as I could. I tried to transfer the pain to rage, but even that was hard. I knew too much. And my rage was directed at a related but different target. 

“Not a peep.” Crowley said, his eyebrows arching. He nodded his approval then walked up and put his hand on the break and squeezed, his eyes never leaving mine. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn't break his gaze and I didn't scream.

He smiled, let go, backed up, lit a cigarette and studied me. 

I tried to project an air of indifference, looking flatly at those red eyes. But I couldn't stop my struggled breathing, shivering, or the tears. 

He chucked, standing up, still holding my gaze while issuing instructions, “We should leave before any backup arrives. If they have backup. Strip the bodies of anything useful. Mutilate them as much has you can in ten minutes. Nothing like a little demoralization. I want the clean up crew to know I'm serious. And her, clean her up. Have her put in my rooms. Chain her.” He said, he smiled finally looking at those gathered around him, “Don't do anything to her I'd rather do first.”


	2. Light the Way

The next few hours were a confusion of limbs and water and horrendous realization.

When possessing a vessel cleanliness isn't an issue. You can will the dirt and debris of an earthly existence away. 

But here I was covered from head to toe in blood with a broken wing. And my will seemed to mean nothing. I could look at the blood, at the dirt, my skinned knees, my broken wing, but my will did nothing to heal them, they became no cleaner. Not only that but the soft murmur of my brothers and sisters was silent. I was unable to hear anything outside of what I could hear with these ears, not able to feel anything outside of my skin and feathers.

There was plenty to feel there, however. Too much. 

Crowley's goons brought me to a place that felt unreal, but my senses told me it was there. It looked like it had been carved out of stone and there wasn't so much as a glimmer of sky anywhere. I found this claustrophobic and it only got worse when they pushed me through a passageway into a shower, one that would have been at home in a five star hotel, open and with multiple shower heads, but seemed restrictive when you added demons and my wings. One wing was cocked at an odd angle, but in this biological form they were massive. The water, turned to what I assume was it's hottest setting, poured over me in a hateful wave. 

The two demons washed me, taking turns holding me still, pushing hard and rough against my new skin. One fondled a breast in passing but another barked something at him in a language I didn't understand and his hand dropped away, but made up for it with a lewd smile. I bared my teeth at him. He laughed and out of some instinct the body seemed to have I brought up an arm and slapped him.

He in turn grabbed and yanked my hair. The hair he held, my hair, was black, long, and wavy. I wished it was shorter as he wrenched my head around into his face, his breath was not pleasant as he whispered, “Fight all you want, angel girl. I'll be outside his door tonight and listening to what he does to you. That will be worth putting up with whatever you can do to me now.”

Keeping this in mind I kneed him in the groin. He wasn't prepared for it and therefor didn't have the time to delegate the pain away from him to his possessed. I was gratified when he fell onto the floor. 

The other demon didn't help him, only laughed. 

Repugnant creatures. 

The one I kneed stood, slowly, his face a paler shade than it had been moments before I was gratified to see. 

“I'm going to enjoy listening to you scream.” He said. 

I tried to smile back at him, but couldn't muster it. I felt drained, more than I had in my entire existence, which wasn't short. Was this what humans felt when they described themselves as tired? I couldn't believe it. To be experiencing human emotions this way was almost too much. I also felt as if there was a burning spot in my chest, a spot that I knew wasn't physical but was...what..? Grief? Guilt? 

I thought of the bodies on the rocks. The broken bodies. 

The spirits that they represented were even worse. The luminescence of the blood on the ground made me think those spirits were gone, trapped in the blood and now nourishing the roots of desert plants. 

So I kept my head down. I let one of them wash my hair. Because I didn't intend to die here. I wasn't going to go down the drain with my blood.

They ushered me out of the shower when all the blood was gone. They dried me before a mirror and without trying to seem like I was I studied my reflection. My wings were an almost glowing white, my hair an equally intense black. My skin was somewhere in between. I looked human and nothing like human all at the same time. 

My wing throbbed, my arm throbbed. 

And then the worst shock so far came as an angel stepped into the bathroom. Not a angel stuck in a weird and awkward body, but an angel in a vessel with glowing blue eyes. 

At first I thought he was here to rescue me. To tell me that the angels had staged an attack on Hell to get me back. Optimistic, but desperation demands optimism. I should have known better. The demons holding me didn't even look frightened. 

The angel, though. He looked scared. Not of them, though.

Of me. 

He was in a vessel, a tall slim young man with blond hair. Tan. Beautiful. 

But his tan drained.

“This is her?” The angel asked.

“What, are you retarded? Yes.” The demon who I had manged to get a kick in on said. 

He stepped forward, looking at my wings with wide, blue eyes. “It's true.” He said. 

“Yes. Get on it, will you? If he gets here and we're not done...” 

“Alright.” The angel said, he moved forward again, putting his hand up, and then on my shoulder. “You'll feel much better in a moment.” 

“I doubt it.” I said, holding his gaze, “Who are you?”

“It doesn't matter.” He said. A blue light came through him then and into me, the force of it not allowing me to ask more questions as I was overwhelmed by relief, from the inside of my chest to the tips of my wings. The pain I'd been in faded to sheer pleasure. No wonder humans were in awe when we healed them. 

It healed me completely. I could tell from his face he hadn't been sure he'd be able to do it. He looked relieved. 

I hadn't realized how much pain I'd been in till I wasn't anymore. 

But that wasn't something to dwell on. What I thought about was the weight advantage my wings gave me. My now whole and functioning wings. 

I flapped, hard, meaning to push the demons back and run past the angel who was so clearly a minion of hell now. How he hadn't fallen was something I'd think about later. 

For now. Escape. 

I was delighted with the strength in my arms and legs, mortal though they seemed to be. The demons were as unfamiliar in their stolen skins as I was in mine and that equalized it a bit. I shoved the angel's vessel aside and ran past him. The demons were thrown off balance by the sheer mass of my wings pushing against them. That gave me a slight lead and that was all I needed. I stretched my wings behind me, hitting the door at a run and then out into the initial labyrinth of stone rooms. 

They felt strong those wings. 

I wish I'd known I was going to lose them within the hour as these humans measure time. 

 

The rooms were large and their appeared to be several of them, but their openness worked in my favor and I sprinted toward the only door I could see. A medival heavy looking thing. The lock was a simple metal bar, I grabbed it, lifted, and screamed as a burning pain ripped through both of my palms. It felt like I'd grabbed a young, hot sun. I wanted to let go of it immediately, but I could hear the demons behind me already almost to me. I felt like I could smell their breath. So I lifted the bar, shrieking in agony, wondering if I had just ruined my hands forever.

I ran through the now open door into almost complete darkness. Behind me the noises of pursuit stopped. Not a fade, as if the men making them had gone quiet, but instead a sudden silence that made me wonder if I had gone deaf. I ran on.

And still, behind me nothing but silence. Below, before, and around me nothing but featureless darkness. 

In fact...

I slowed, then stopped, turning to look behind me.

There was no door behind me. Not even an outline of one. Just...darkness. In every direction.

I knelt, looking at the floor. It seemed to be made from pebbles that were formed into an almost smooth surface like a very well worn cobblestone path made from small river rocks. I wondered how I was seeing those rocks for only a moment before it registered. 

Around me everything was black yes, but...

But I could see my own skin. It glowed with a soft almost indigo light, flowing up and down my arms. I turned my hands over looking at my palms. The burns smoldered and had a golden shimmer to them where they were already trying to heal. I stared at them, then stood again. 

If I couldn't find my direction this way, well, there was always up.

I flapped my wings experimentally and found myself smiling at the sheer vividness of their reality. It wasn't the spirit, that was true. But it was divine.

I jumped, flapping hard, and got a bit of lift. The muscles in my chest and back burned briefly, but then found their rhythm. And I lifted up into the darkness. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Because in my flight the only breeze I felt was the one my wings created. Because the blackness didn't brighten or fade. I was afraid to fly in any direction but up, in case I met a wall with more force than I was prepared to deal with.

So walking it was then.

I folded my wings a bit, ready to flap them to equalize my fall when my feet touched the ground.

I froze.

It was impossible.

I had flown at least 30 meters up.

At least.

I knelt, again looking at the floor. It appeared to be the same floor.

So I tried it again, this time pushing myself to the point of exhaustion, folding my wings, and...landing immediately on the floor.

That left traveling horizontally. I picked a direction and walked, my wings twitching uneasily. Despite being nude I found the air perfectly comfortable.

Too comfortable. It was of a temperature that one couldn't exactly feel. 

I kept walking.

Where was the cavernous space? Not Hell, surely. I was at least slightly up to date on the fire and ice of Hell. If this was Hell this was a temperate and boring Hell.

I looked at my hands, they now had only golden lines on them showing where they healed. My skin was still a faint indigo and after watching my arms for some time I saw the gold lines fade.

I realized I wasn't thinking clearly but couldn't think clearly about it. 

This struck me as funny and I laughed.

Then couldn't remember why I'd been laughing.

Where was I?

I couldn't keep up with time. It could have been a matter of minutes I had been there or hours. 

I stopped walking. The air around me was dead. I flapped my wings just to make a breeze. 

Where was I?


	3. Fall From Last to None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is an angel an angel without her wings?

“Have you had enough, yet?” The question came from the dark, from all around.

I paused, then kept walking forward. 

“More? You could stay lost in there for years, you know.” The voice again. It made the hair on the back of my neck try to stand up but it was too long to make much of a successful effort. I still walked forward. I couldn't recognize the voice, it wasn't like anything I'd heard before. Granted the list of things I had actually heard with my new ears was short. But this voice, well it was a new kind of noise. Deep and frightening. It reminded me of eyes in the dark.

As if the thought had summoned it eyes appeared before me. 

Red eyes that were just a shade lighter than the blackness around them. I felt heat as well, against my skin. It was a relief to feel anything but it caused something to drop in my stomach. I realized that for the first time, the first time since I'd found myself locked in this body, I was experiencing real fear. 

I took a breath in and stopped, lifting my wings to cast their feeble light as far forward as I could, “Who's there?” 

“You know who, love.” The eyes blinked, then disappeared. The heat dissipated, I was back in the featureless dark, but I wasn't alone. I flapped my wings, anxious, and then wrapped them around myself. It was an impulse I didn't understand, this urge to cover myself. For the first time I understood why Adam and Eve had felt naked. 

“Do you know your bible?” The voice asked and it sounded very much like it came from directly behind me. 

I spun in place, crossing my arms over my chest. 

Nothing was there.

“I said,” The voice returned, behind me again, “Do you know your bible?” 

“I know the Word.” I said. 

The voice laughed, it wasn't a good laugh. It was the laugh of a hungry beast. My body recognized this even though at the time I didn't have the words for it.

I felt as if that laugh were an insult and went on “The word is given to every angel. In our minds. In our...” I trailed off, thinking. And just as I could no long hear the voices of my brothers and sisters, I could no longer feel the word in my soul. I no longer knew. 

Oh shit. Oh shit. I was forgetting.

But I had to remember. The ring. The mountains. The light, so bright it burned my eyes and my eyes then were eyes of spirit. Saving...

Saving what?

What had I gone to the mountain for? How had I known my brothers and sisters would come? And how had I not known we would be locked in these fleshly bodies?

The plan, I thought.

It's fading, I thought. 

The laugh again. The encroaching madness.

“Time for you to leave, darling. Time for you to see me. And if you want to stay, you may, if you want to leave, the door is open behind you.” 

I looked over my shoulder and sure enough there was an outline there. It was the door back to those stone rooms. I shivered at the sight of them, knowing, or at least sensing what was on the other side for me.

“Never.” I said, losing even the reason for refusing as I said it. 

That reason faded as soon as he stepped into the light. He wasn't in his vessel. It was why I hadn't recognized the voice.

Crowley was as Crowley was. 

A demon. Horrible beyond my new and fragile imagination. 

Immensely tall and yet I could see all of him. His skin was fire, and when I looked up and met his eyes...

I closed my eyes against the burning sight of him. The horrors of humanity were burned into my vision from his eyes into mine.

He began to laugh and it made me feel deaf. The only sense I had was of his overwhelming presence and despite myself I had to get away.

I turned, my arms out, unwilling to open my eyes.

“This way, love.” This voice I did recognize came from before me. It was his vessel. The accent was a clear defining line.

I opened my eyes. I couldn't see color, the sight of the demon had burned color from my eyes, but I could see Crowley's vessel. One hand held a cigarette, the other was held out from the doorway fingers crooked as if in welcome. “Come on, then.” He said. 

I paused, my wings around me, the horrible laugh had stopped but...I could sense him behind me. I wanted to run forward, away. But that meant running into those windowless rooms. 

Survival was my priority. I found that I knew I had a better chance of surviving back away from this confusing space.

Crowley's vessel smiled, “Come on, love. It'll go easier for you if you just do as your told.” The bastard winked. My horror in that moment was complete as I realized his vessel was a willing one. For one of the most horrendous creatures in Hell.

Well, better him than what lay behind me. Maybe he could be reasoned with.

I told myself this. 

My real reason for running back to those rooms was I couldn't look at that...thing that was Crowley again. Sights like that weren't made for mortal eyes, even if those eyes belonged to an angel. I was pretty sure if I did look it wouldn't just be the color that would fade from my vision but my vision itself would be gone. I wondered if I'd ever see color with these eyes again.

So I ran and took his vessel's hand. And the man with the accent and green eyes helped me into the room and closed the door behind me. 

“We can run together. We can get away from him.” I said as soon as the door clicked shut. Being out of that room almost immediately cleared my mind. I was myself again even if I didn't know what self that was. I knew I likely had only moments. 

“Can we?” The vessel asked. His tone was casual, like we were just having a friendly chat. He walked up to me, talking my arm, and guiding me toward a small footstool in front of a fire.

“No, I can't sit. I...we...need to run. There must be another way out. What's your name?” I asked, thinking of how humans seemingly thrived on connection. If I could connect with him could I get him to help.

He held firmly onto my arm, but stopped, looking over my shoulder toward the door. Unable to stop myself I followed his gaze. There was a red haze pouring through the keyhole and around and through cracks and hinges.

I reacted with panic and tried to pull out of the vessels grip. It proved to be strong and he held me fast even as the red poured from the door and into him through his mouth. The process looked unpleasant. Then it was over.

His head lowered, as if he were gathering himself in thought

When he raised his face to mine again I found Crowley's red gaze, “That was really very naughty of you.” He said. I yanked and pulled against his grip, but it tightened until I made a strangled noise of pain. He smiled at this and twisted his wrist forcing me to my knees, leaned and facing down toward the stone flag floor, “You've been a fair amount of trouble, I hear.” His foot came down on my back and forced me entirely forward. There was a twist of pain in my arm. My wings unfurled so they wouldn't get caught between my body and the floor. 

“It's not that I don't appreciate someone with a little life in them, not at all. I just can't let it get in the way of our fun.” I felt a hand on the curve of my wing, I tried to pull it away but the fingers dug in till they were intertwined with the quills. It was agonizing, “I'll admit I never expected to see and angel like this. Brought down to human level. And the wings...the wings...I don't think that was expected at all. Someone burned the bodies of your comrades, you know. Not us. No. Right after we left there was fire from heaven. A regular miracle.”

The hand in my wing twisted, I felt feathers rip. I bit my lip, unwilling to make a sound.

“This has never been my fetish. Wings. Too much like furries for my taste. No...I have a taste for things darker.” The handful of features left in his hand he ripped out then he dug his fingers in for a fresh batch. I felt tears again burning in my eyes, but I didn't make a noise. I was too busy trying to get my rapid breathing under control.

“You are so quiet.” He said, “That isn't my fetish at all. I like my whores to make noise. I like screaming.” 

He ripped another handful of feathers out. Blood dripped onto the flagstones next to my face. And I heard footsteps, someone else coming. 

I struggled, trying to get free of him. I twisted, kicking out, trying to hit his leg. He stepped back, neatly, letting me go. I could barely believe it. I stood, ready to run, when the worst pain so far seared up my back, around the base of my wings. It felt like the handle of the door had against my skin. I twisted to look as best I could and found two heavy manilcles around the base of my wings. Whoever had come in had rushed over and clamped them down. There was blood running down the feathers where they were pushed into them with what I could only guess were spikes. But worst of all was the burning sensation. The tendrils of some plasma rose from it. Not smoke exactly, but worse. It smelled like burning hair and flesh.

“He was right. Iron. Interesting.” Crowley said. His eyes were creased with his smile.

I staggered forward, trying to flap my wings back, to hit whoever had caused this pain, but the movement made the searing into something indescribable. 

I almost screamed.

I wish I would have.

Because his look of amusement turned to one of anger when instead of screaming I merely fell to the ground, to my knees, reaching behind me to claw at ring on my wing.

“Are they uncomfortable?” He asked, walking up to me. I tried to move back, away from him.

Two pairs of hands found my back. I looked up. These weren't the same two goons who had held me before. These two looked frightened. As if they didn't want to be in this room either.

“Hold her still.” Crowley said, he was reaching into his coat pocket. When he pulled out a cigarette case I was relieved. When he put it back and instead extracted a pocket knife, a large pocket knife, and flipped blade out the relief dissolved. 

He smiled. 

And I realized what he meant to do. Not with any surgical tools. With just the knife. And his strength.

Before he was done he had to call in three more guards. 

Before he was done I learned what agony was.

I didn't start screaming until the first of my wings hit the floor. Detached from my back, it flapped weakly then stopped.

I didn't stop screaming for a long time.


	4. Flame and Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallen, Broken, Wingless, and she hasn't yet experienced Hell.
> 
> Of course, Crowley is happy to introduce her to his Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now things get dark. Trigger warning. Rape. Torture. The like.

Eventually darkness took over. It was what I later learned was similar to sleep. The last thing I conciously remember was the knife falling on the ground in front of my face. It seemed to land in slow motion, covered in blood and downy feathers.

I had nightmares but none were worse than the one I woke up to. 

I had no idea of anything other than the pain at first. It was a throbbing thing that seemed to overtake my existence. And the feeling of loss. Parts of me were missing and I was irrevocably changed. And all this just hours after I'd been born into this body. 

There was a void where my wings had been. I felt them, nonetheless, and they were in agony. I could feel their invisible weight, feel them move. The body, when faced with trauma that it can't process will fool you and it was those fool wings that I felt. Because even while I felt them move and twitch I also felt something else against the creases beside my shoulders; the deep pain of a needle pushing through skin and drawing thread through. 

Someone was stitching my back like I was a human's ragdoll. They were stitching over where my wings had been, closing wounds physically and leaving whole new ones in my mind. 

The air around me was comfortable. I could smell something woody and pleasant. Later, much later, I learned it was cedar. That a demon should make his bed out of something held sacred to many religions is obscene but it was exactly what the King of Hell did. And you would think, and be wrong, that the smell of cedar made me sick after everything that happened next, but the opposite is true. 

Maybe the only pleasant thing I had was that smell.

I felt the needle pull thread through, then heard a light snipping. The pressure of the thread being held taut was released and some of the pain abated. 

“It's done, Highness.” The voice was accented and unfamiliar. I felt the surface of what I was lying prone on lift slightly, as if another weight had shifted off of it. It was springy and soft, whatever I was on. The word bed came to mind and the associations that came with that simple noun made the pain on my back fade and instead be replaced by what felt like a stone in my stomach, “Are you sure you don't want me to call for Asr-” 

“Don't say his name. What if she's awake?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

There was a longish pause, then the voice of the King of Hell again, “Well?” 

“Are you sure you don't want her wounds at least checked again? We don't know what might-”

“If we have him heal her she might recover her wings and that would ruin my evening.” There was a slamming after this, as if a heavy door was closed on it's hinges. Another set of noises made me think of confinement. The click and clatter of locks. I guess Crowley couldn't trust his own House. This didn't really surprise me. In fact, it suddenly struck me as funny. 

I guess being the King of Hell didn't come with obvious perks, like a servant who wouldn't as soon kill you as look at you. 

Heaven might be regemented, but we trusted each other. We were brothers and sisters. 

“I know you're awake.” His voice broke through my oblivion, “How are you feeling? Horrible?” 

I opened my eyes and got a sideways view of his bedroom. It wasn't encouraging. Metal things of various amounts of sharpness hung on the walls. The bed itself was a four poster. The posts looked very much like wood encased by a elaborate amount of metal work. In short, the bed looked very, very, depressingly, sturdy. 

I moved my arms, my legs, and was startled to find I was untied. I shifted, moving my arms under my body, and pushed myself up into a sitting position. It hurt so badly tears stung my eyes. My throat burned from where I had screamed while he cut my wings from my body. 

Meaning to stand before him, I discovered I couldn't. My knees were weak and my head spun. Instead I sat, one leg folded up against my chest, the other around it, trying to both seem confident and hide as much of myself as I could, and looked at him. The amount of courage it took to raise my eyes to his was more than I knew I had. As it turns out that courage wasn't enough. When my eyes met his red ones and he smiled I looked away first. I looked anywhere else; toward the rest of the walls, finding no solace in the metal instruments, I looked at the fine mahogany of the floor. At his shoes. It looked like there might have been blood on them.

It wasn't just that his gaze was intimidating, it was what he was doing. Because as he'd stared at me he'd been unbuttoning his coat. 

I felt my heart beat fiercely in my chest. I was afraid of death for the first time. I understood I was mortal. It was not a good realization. In a way it made me understand the creation of my father even more though. Humans had to live with their own mortality constantly. 

There was a whisper of cloth as his jacket fell from his shoulders. It landed around his shoes. 

“Do you know enough to know what's about to happen?” He asked, “Or did God keep everyone as innocent as Adam and Eve?” 

“I won't tell you anything.” I said, my voice was a rasp, not much louder than a whisper. Screaming had rendered me nearly mute. I coughed, looked up at him, trying to clear my throat so I could sound assured when I repeated myself. But it's one thing to clear a little hoarseness, another entirely to clear the infinity of screams, “Nothing.”

He was loosening his tie, smiling, “Oh, you will, love.” He said, “But I'm not interested in questions right now.” 

“Then...what?” I asked, then coughed.

He laughed, “He did keep you innocent. As doves, I guess. A romantic, your God.” 

Something very pressing came to mind then. It was the image of doves in my mind that triggered it, “My wings...you-”

“I removed a distraction.” He said, unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt. That done he moved to the buttons on his black shirt. 

“A distraction?” I asked, my voice was nearly gone now but I could hear the anger, “A distraction? My wings?”

“Do you have echolalia? Yes, a distraction.” He took his shirt off. Then, it registered. Then, I realized.

“No.” I said, and rallying myself, I pushed back toward the opposite end of his bed, meaning to slide off it was suddenly stopped my a burning yank on my throat. My hand reached up to a circlet of metal on my throat. It seemed to be smooth enough but there was an indent in it where when pressure was applied my skin would press into it. I pressed a finger into it, experimentally, and snatched it back. My finger burned. A collar. I was in a collar. And it was attached, I could see now, to one of the posts of the bed. 

“Gold and iron, nothing but the best for my pets.” He smiled, sitting on the opposite end of the bed, leaning to remove his shoes. 

“Take it off.” I rasped, wanting to yank against it, but not wanting to experience the pain again.

“No.” He stood again, removing the rest of his clothes. I looked away, at the clasp where the chain met the bed. I moved toward it, scrambling across the bed and yanked. I think we were both surprised when it gave a little, but it didn't last long. I yanked again, the link bent. A third yank and it gave. The chain and collar were still attached to me but I was free of the bed. I tried to move off, underestimated how weak I was, fell to the floor. 

I cursed in an obscure language I didn't even know the mortal tongue could make till just then and pushed my legs under me, finally able to stand. Able to run.

I didn't make it three steps when I was again yanked back by the metal ring on my neck. 

I fell onto my back. Onto the stitched void where my wings should have been. A deep pain followed the fall and my vision came over first red then a dim gray. I lay waiting for it to pass gasping for breath. Every inhale was agony. I started to twist, to get back on my knees. 

A moment later he was on top of me, his hands sliding up my arms, pinning them, and then, horribly his weight on me. It forced the healing stitches on my back against the floor. Pain unlike anything I knew could be experienced ripped up my arms, across my shoulders, down my back. 

“You little whore, you know what daddy likes. Scream for me again.” He whispered, his breath hot in my ear. He smelled like scotch and sulphur. Worse his skin, hot against mine, pressed over the entire length of me. He was larger than I was. He was forcing one leg between mine, “Do you know how long it's been since I've had something new to play with?” 

I bent one knee, trying to push him off, trying to hit him.

He used it to his advantage and freed one hand, holding my wrists down with the other, he pushed my leg down at an angle. It exposed the center of me and he shifted to take advantage. He was firmly between my legs now, I could feel him pushing against my genitals. I hadn't, when possessing a vessel, given much thought to gender or sex. Now it seemed to be all I could think about.

And the main thing I thought was how I didn't want him inside me.

I didn't want this thing to break me open.

I struggled, pushed, but I felt lightheaded from the pain. And from something else. I felt weak, frightened, mortal.

“You know you want this, whore.” He said, his hand, free from it's duty of spreading my legs open for him now cupped my breast. I tried to move away from it, squirm away.

The fingers closed around my nipple, squeezed, “Hold still.” He whispered in my ear again.

“No. No. I don't want this. No.” I said, my voice fading to nothing. I squirmed, tried to move myself away from him. Tried to get away from the throbbing heat tucked between the outer set of lips between my legs. His...what should I call it? Humans had slang for genitalia, but I didn't know any of it. The object itself I was horribly aware of. His penis felt too hot. Too big.

“Darling, we're in Hell. No most certainly doesn't mean no.” He leaned back, looking down at me, “And I've never had an angel.” 

“Please, don't.” I said. 

There was a moment. A flicker. At first I thought I imagined it. But then...

Then his red eyes shifted to green ones. He looked me in the eyes. 

I felt myself relaxing. Maybe he didn't mean to cause that brief reassuring flicker. Maybe the host had fought it's way through. Maybe I could be done with this nightmare for a little while. We could run...

But no, it was still Crowley.

He smiled, looking in my eyes. I was too scared to look away. He pushed with his hips and I felt a slight pain and he groaned, “I feel you're a virgin, love.” He whispered, his hand trailing from my breast to my hips, “And because you begged so nicely the first time will be short.” 

“Crowley,” I whispered. His lips quirked as if i'd amused him but I didn't let it stop me, I rambled, “If you're capable of compassion...if you can only...”I started to stutter, “If you can see your way to being quick, then just don't. Just let me go.”

He started, then laughed. “No, love. You misunderstand.” The smile that touched his lips was inhuman, “I've never had angel blood. And certainly never the first blood of a virgin angel. So it will be quick because I want to taste you as soon as I break you.” 

I had expected more talk then. Demons tend to ramble. 

But instead there was just pressure. I felt myself spread. He was thick. It began to hurt. “Please, no.” I twisted my wrists trying to get free, trying to pull up, away from him. I slipped off what he had put inside me, twisted away. 

He responded by simply tightening the hand on my hip and shoving hard.

I shrieked, twisting, trying to get away. To my surprise he released my wrists and wrapped both hands around my hips. I tried to move away, to claw my way over the floor, and thought I was making progress, almost sliding off of him when he yanked me back against him and pushed inside.

The pain was a dark red thing in the center of me. He had torn me. Violated me. Taken my wings and now was taking something that I felt was just as important.

He laughed, it was gutteral, demonic.

I bent a knee, trying to push against his chest, but couldn't get the angle right. My hands came up first shoving his shoulders, then pushed on the floor instead, trying to get away, and again managed to make a bit of progess, felt him start to slide out, but then was pulled back. 

Pain exploded a third time.

This time I tried to claw at him but my fingernails were neither long nor sharp. I left marks on his chest, his shoulders, but he didn't stop. Instead he lifted one hand and grabbed my hand, twisting it back. Pain exploded in my wrist.

“Scream.” He said. 

Anger flared in my chest. What had been panic was now rage. 

I brought my other hand up, fingers bent and ready to dig into flesh, this time aiming for his eyes.

He leaned back, letting my hand swipe down harmlessly. 

He let go of the wrist he had been twisting and reached up, slipping out of me. I was relieved for only a moment. For one, I got a look at his blood streaked abdomen. His member was red with it. My blood. 

For another, he had only moved to pick me up and throw me on the bed. He reached for shackles that had been discretely inlaid on the metal and wood frame work of his bed. He put one on and after a struggle got the other on. 

“Now we can have more fun.” He said, moving back down. His hands went to my knees, pushing my legs down on the bed and opening them. I pushed, pulled, tried to free myself.

He leaned down putting his mouth over me. Drinking my blood. I felt his tongue flick over me, then inside me, moving, lapping at my blood. He was making noises of pleasure. My stomach twisted, I wanted to vomit, in fact I retched, but he just pushed down harder on my legs and his tongue went deeper.

“Stop it, stop it, demon.” And then unable to stop myself I began to chant, “Exorazimus te...”

He leaned up, blood on his lips, made a fist, and I saw him bring it down toward my open eyes.

And I knew no more that night.


	5. Broken Halos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley might not be getting answers but he's getting something from his fallen captive.
> 
> Triggers: Biting, rape, torture, mental enslavement, physical enslavement

I dreamed I was home. That I'd never made the deal.  
I dreamed our Father hadn't forsaken all of us.  
I dreamed I was happy again.

 

The pain from behind my shoulders woke me. The void where my wings should have been was a throb so intense that I lacked the vocabulary to describe it to myself. Between my legs felt like nothing more than a burning bruise. I felt emptied. My cheeks a wet mess of tears and snot. I turned my aching body, surprised to feel softness under me. Sheets and pillows. I opened my eyes and discovered my right eye was swollen almost closed. 

The air smelled like cedar and blood. 

Groaning I rolled, trying to get onto my stomach, to alleviate some of the pain from my back. Moving caused fresh tears to fall down my cheeks and onto the silk sheets. I was still on Crowley’s bed. I’d known that from the smell but seeing the silk, feeling it against my bare body, made the whole thing worse. 

I wished I’d died with my brothers and sisters.

I was convinced I had never felt this bad, this broken. Then, I felt his hand on my back, smelled his cologne and the sulfur. I changed from wishing to praying for death.

I must have been doing it aloud because he chuckled, spoke into my ear in a soft soothing whisper, “God doesn’t answer prayers, pet.” His hand slipped from my back, sliding over my side to my stomach, resting there. I felt the sleeve of a jacket. He’d dressed again. “I’m going to ask you some questions.” He kept whispering, “You’re going to answer them.” 

I flinched but didn’t move. I couldn’t. I had used the last of my energy to move off my back. I felt light headed, confused. My stomach made an odd noise. Hungry, I thought, I’m hungry. 

How could I possibly be hungry at a time like this.

What kind of body was this?

Instead of focusing on the odd sensation of hunger I closed my eyes and clenched a fist, “I won’t tell you anything.” I said. 

He shifted, I felt something between my shoulder blades, gentle and soft and slightly wet. There was a soft smacking noise with it. He was kissing my skin. I tried to move, get away from his mouth. The hand on my stomach tightened, the sensation stopped and I felt his lips brush my ear, “You will.” He whispered. “You want to, darling. You see, you don’t know how lucky you are.” 

I laughed at that, not intentionally. It was an insane laugh that seemed to come up from where his hand rested on my stomach, through my whole body. It was the laugh of absurdity and disbelief. To my shock he laughed along. His laugh was muffled as his lips were pressed to my back. I could feel his beard. It made me nauseous. 

I was so bewildered by his laughing along that I was completely unprepared when I felt his teeth sink into my flesh. He bit so hard that it bypassed the hunger, nausea, and exhaustion I felt until I was only a being of shock and pain. 

Crowley released the bite then shifted, moved to my shoulder, bit again. He moved, putting his whole weight on me, tangling his hand in my hair he bit my throat beside the collar. It broke skin. His tongue lapped at the blood. He released my hair, lifted his body and rolled me onto my back. He cupped one of my breasts running his thumb over the nipple before he leaned, and bit the side of it. 

This caused me to jerk, to start to squirm away. His hands, strong and used to this sort of activity slid over my body, stopping me. One hand was wrapped around my arm, holding me, the other went back into my hair, grabbing and yanking my head back until moving caused too much pain. Once I was immobilized he continued.

He kept biting - my stomach, my breasts, over my ribs. His teeth didn’t always break my skin. This alternating with bites that merely shaped skin and bites that caused blood to rise and flow kept me afraid of what the next bite would bring. Every press of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, and press of his hard teeth could mean something different. 

It went on and on until he’d ridden and bitten me to the point of exhaustion. 

He leaned back, sitting on the bed and licking his lips. From his jacket pocket withdrew a handkerchief, wiped the blood his tongue had missed.

I sat up, pushed with my legs, and moved away from him until I hit his headboard. I grabbed the sheet and yanked it over me gasping for breath and wishing there was more room between us.

“You taste amazing, pet. That’s one reason you’re lucky.” Crowley said, finishing with his handkerchief.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice was raw and almost nonexistent. My throat was dry and I was incredibly thirsty.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “I’ve asked myself that, darling. See, you’re not really my type. I’m not picky but I do have my likes. Too old for a girl.” He stood up, off the bed, smoothing down his jacket, “But you’re unique. I like unique things. I like owning them.”

“I belong only to God.” I spoke in a whisper.

“I already told you God doesn’t listen.” He pulled a cigarette case from his jacket pocket along with a lighter.

“God always listens.” I said. But did he? He hadn’t stopped me when I’d been in the cave? Or had He? Had the falling of my brothers and sisters been punishment? But if it was punishment from God why my blameless brothers and sisters as well? Why not let them realize my treachery and escape?

“You look thoughtful and I’d love to know why.” Crowley said. He took a drag on his cigarette, “Why weren’t you with the rest of them?” He asked. 

I said nothing.

“You see, those idiots I sent to finish off all you angels told me you didn’t come from the sky. They said you walked into the carnage. Walked. And I remember the look of your wings. Like they had been dragging the ground. Even under close scrutiny my minions couldn’t remember the direction you came from but I went and looked. There were two ways you could have travelled to ruin your wings that badly. And I’ll be damned if I didn’t find a circle in one of them. An mostly destroyed circle, true, but it was there. It was drawn in lamb’s blood. Tricky magic for an angel.” He paused.

I still stayed silent. 

He nodded as if I’d said something, “Want to hear my theory?” He asked, grinning. 

“No.” I said. 

For some reason this made him laugh, “There’s one question answered.” He took another drag and blew the smoke at me. I turned my head and coughed, drawing my legs up and wrapping my arms around them keeping as much of myself under the sheet as possible. I was trying to will my strength to return but instead I felt weaker. 

“I think you were the reason they were coming.” Crowley said. I kept my head turned away. He walked around the bed to the direction I was facing and I turned away again. I was half expecting the slap that came. He wasn’t classy about it, didn’t go to any pains to hit me in the face, didn’t aim he simply let his hand connect partially with the side of my head, like a human smacking a dog, “I didn’t tell you to look away from me.” He said.

“I don’t listen to you-” I said.

The bed beside me sunk with his weight and he hit me again, still a slap. I realized he was trying not to hurt me too badly. He didn’t want me to pass out again. “Look at me.” He said. 

I almost didn’t. I almost kept my gaze down. But I hurt so badly, I was so weak. I needed to pick my fights. So I looked at him. His eyes were a blazing red, “What were you doing in that cave?” He asked.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Lie to me and I’m going to put this,” He held up the cigarette, “in your eye.” 

My mouth dropped open. He smiled, “What were you doing in that cave? Why would an angel need a circle?” 

I thought about the angels falling from the sky. The sound of the guns. 

Pick your battles, I thought.

“I…” I started, coughed.

“Hurry up.” He said. He took a drag on the cigarette. The tip glowed brightly. 

Pick your battles. Pick your battles. I thought. Pick your battles. 

“I was…” 

“Talk.” He snapped.

Fuck picking my battles. I smiled. He looked puzzled. Until I jerked forward. The cigarette was the threat, he was the threat, so I simply slammed my head into both of them. It forced the cigarette against my cheek, which was better than my eye. He didn’t fall back as I’d hoped. He didn’t even cry out. He instead stepped back and flicked the broken cigarette onto the floor. He sat on the bed his eyes on mine. He didn’t blink. 

He reached out, grabbed the collar at my neck by hooking a finger around it, and pulled. I thought was was going to break my neck instead he pulled me across his lap onto my back. He yanked the sheet away and I tried to cross my arms over my breasts, draw my legs up. He didn’t pay attention.

His free hand moved under his coat. He pulled out a lighted handled knife, put it in front of my face, and said “I see just the threat of a cigarette isn’t enough. I thought not. I had this made today, while you slept. Iron. It’s not sharp. It’s blunt. I had it kept blunt so this will take longer than it should. That’s okay, I’ll enjoy it.”

He brought his hand down, sliced just under my good eye. I felt blood rush up and over. I closed my eye, the blood pooled over the lid. And then I heard him speak, using the blood as an intercom, “Bring the healer to my room. Tell him to be ready. Oh and fast, if she dies it’s your fault.” He said.

Before the pain had even begun to recede from my eye he brought the knife down and shoved into my skin just above my hip bone and slid the blade horizontally across my hips almost eviscerating me. I screamed so loudly I felt my vocal cords could snap.

“Listen to me.” He said.

I kept screaming. The pain was unbelievable. The fear worse.

He yanked my hair, bringing me partially back to my senses, “Listen to me.” He snarled, “Listen to me. We’re going to start slow. Very slow.” He lowered his voice, “Don’t move too much or your guts will fall out. Do you understand?” 

“Yes...yes...please, get help.” I said, I was becoming senseless with panic.

“Listen to me, answer me, and I’ll help you. Remember that. If you do what I say I’ll help you. We’re going to start with an easy question this time. Will you answer it?”

“Yes.” I shrieked. Then, without meaning to, I cried, “Please, God, help me. Father, help me!” 

“God isn’t coming. Do you hear me? God doesn’t care. I care. I’ll be your Daddy now.” He laughed but I was barely aware of it, “ Listen to me. Answer me. What was your name?” 

I told him. 

It was the last time I said my name for a very long time.

His healer wasn’t the angel. I remembered his fear of my wings returning. This time the healer was a mortal man who disinfected, stitched, patched. 

In the weeks that followed I never answered questions that mattered. I never got away. I was never allowed the leave the small set of rooms he used. He never stopped using his knife. Most nights he found his way inside me with his body in addition to his blade, his breath ragged as he spilled burning seed into the space between my legs, or my mouth. While he fucked me he whispered in my ear, speaking in soft Enochian, describing what he was going to do to me next. What the next day held if I didn’t answer him, if I didn’t please him.

Hell’s King doesn’t make it to where he is without being creative. 

I became his pet. I didn’t see the sunlight. I never understood what I was angel or human or both and I eventually stopped caring.

I never saw anyone but him, a healer, and the occasional demon that came in to bring me food. They weren’t allowed to speak to me. It was it’s own torture for an angel who was used to the constant voices of her brothers and sisters. 

I lost time. I lost skin and it healed. I lost dignity and it never came back.

I lost my name. He called me ‘whore’ when he was feeling happy and worse things when he was angry. .

Life became serving him, fighting when I could, healing afterward. I watched him lick up or drink my blood a thousand times. Eventually he stopped asking the questions. I couldn’t answer them. I couldn’t remember. 

Months or years later I sat on his bed. My long lost wings didn’t ache anymore. The phantom pain was gone. I didn’t have enough room for it around the real pain. I woke and dressed. He picked all my clothes. All light colored and oddly childish. I never wore the same thing twice. Probably too much trouble to wash the blood and tears out. Lunch came and I ate.

As I usually did while I nibbled on lunch I tried to remember my name. 

I tried to remember the glory of God.

Dinner came. I ate. I showered. I dressed. I poured a scotch into a crystal tumbler, put it carefully on a table by a chair, and I waited for him. 

He didn’t come. I didn’t worry. It happened before. After a while I went to bed, expecting the weight of him in the morning. 

Instead a soft knock came in the middle of my night. Startled I sat up. I didn’t have a lighter to light the candles with and they were guttering. There was no other source of light. 

“Sir?” A hesitant voice called, “Your Majesty?”

Puzzled I pulled the sheet around myself and walked to the door. It was locked and I didn’t have a key.

“Majesty?” The voice came again.

I didn’t know what to do. I shivered, even though the air was warm. It was always warm, this close to Hell.

“Sir?” Again.

There was a rattle of the key in the lock and I took a step back when it swung open. A tall, nervous looking demon stood there looking just as startled as I was, “Is the King in there with you?” He asked. 

I cleared my throat, trying to remember how long it had been since I’d spoken, “No. He’s not.” I said. 

“Very well.” He said, and he walked off, explaining nothing. 

He left the door unlocked. And instead of blackness, there was a hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends roughly at the point where Crowley disappears from Hell because of Winchester troubles. I don't remember this super clearly so I guess I have to rewatch the entire series, er I mean season.


	6. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presented with freedom and constrained by madness, not knowing who she is outside a small set of rooms, no name, nothing of her own, she flees.

 

The flagstones felt warm under my bare feet as I slowly stepped out into the hallway. The dim bulbs that lit the hall seemed to be anchored to the ceiling and had no ornamentation. The walls were rough stone. They looked wet and dark. I wanted to reach out to touch the rock, but pulled my hand back at the last second. I looked down the hall in the direction the demon had gone. He was far down the hall, still hurrying. I watched him go, standing for longer than I should. In my head my thoughts bickered and argued.

 

_Go, go, go, now may be your only chance_.

 

_Go where? Go to who?_

 

_Anywhere. Away. You want to be standing here when he comes back? You want to see what he does to you for daring to step out this far?_

 

I shuddered, looked over my shoulder into the rooms it seemed like I'd spent an eternity in. I could smell the smoke from the fireplace, cedar from the bed frame, and the heavy odor of abuse from the air – coppery, salty, and thick. 

 

I couldn't go back in there. I was barefoot, in a cream colored dress that covered intimate parts of me but that was about it. But I wouldn't go back to that room. And with that decision made I hurried in the opposite direction from the demon, not even bothering to close the door behind me.

 

I was fifty or so steps down the hall when I remembered something about a ring. I looked at my hands. It had been on the left hand when I'd come here. When had that been? I slowed, stopped, trying to remember. A small part of my mind that was still sane screamed for me to move, either back toward the room to get my ring, or forward and fuck jewelry.

 

Instead of listening I held still, thinking.

 

How long had I been here? When had he taken the ring? Why did that scare me?

 

I turned and looked behind me, down the hallway toward Crowley's rooms. I couldn't see the weighty door itself, but the light that spilled from inside was visible on the ground, golden, beautiful, lying.

 

I couldn't leave that ring.

 

_Why_? My mind screamed, _Why does it fucking matter_?

 

But it did. I knew that when I didn't even know what I was. I knew I was in Hell, I knew I needed that ring.

 

I turned and walked back toward that light.

 

It didn't occur to me he might have kept it somewhere else. Because it had to be there. It had to.

 

The door was open when I got there but I stopped at the threshold of the room, looking in, trying to decide where he might be keeping it without actually entering.

 

He wore jewelry. Rings, mostly, sometimes a necklace. Sometimes a tongue ring.  He generally removed his jewelry before... well, before. But not his rings. He liked the marks they made. Still, something made me think he might have left them this time.

I tried to remember the night before. The last time I'd seen Crowley he'd spanked, slapped, and rendered me bloody between my thighs before he put me into the shower. He'd stepped in a moment later, hands sliding over me, soothing me. It was a game he played, like a fisherman playing catch and release. Hurt then sooth. Hurt then sooth. He'd taken the rings off before he'd gotten in the shower. I knew that because the feelings of his hands over me, sliding soap around and over, had been smooth. No scratches then. No slaps either. 

 

I took a deep breath and dashed to the bathroom, scanning the sinks, the shower, the bath. A glint of gold next to the bath. I ran to the glint and looked down at the jewelry, picking the rings up one at a time. There were only three. None were the ones I needed, but I held onto them anyway. I ran back to the bedroom, looked at the stand he used to place things he was going to use on. I looked next to the scotch I'd poured earlier.

 

Nothing.

 

I glanced back at the door, wondering how long I had, who would come for me.

 

Where else? There was a small red room that was rarely used and locked with a key only he held. A small kitchen. He didn't need to eat but made me cook for him. Serve him.

 

My stomach lurched a little at this thought and I pushed it away. If I could get out of here it wouldn't matter what he used to make me do.

 

I decided to check the closet just in case, but found only the dresses, stockings, and lingerie I knew would be there.

 

Nothing. Nothing.

 

I tried the door to the red room, found it locked, and put my head against it. Damn it. I needed the ring. 

 

In the distance I heard the sound of shoes on the hall floor. Someone was coming. Someone who might shut the door. Someone who might be worse than Crowley if such a thing were possible.

 

So I ran.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had to put the Supernatural marker anywhere it would be here. It would also say "Not Cannon" underneath. 
> 
> This chapter is brief because I felt it was time to shift and let her get along on her own for a while. It should be interesting to see where she goes. (Writers who have everything mapped out at all times totally confuse me and are also my heros. I prefer the skipping blindly into the future method of writing.)


	7. Nameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Bradbury is out doing some light hunting when a drive through rural Appalachia leads to her getting a bit more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo, lots of notes on this one. This shifts from first person to third. I know it's stylistic lunacy, but ever since I read the Martian I've wanted to give it a shot. Plus, I think our angel is past the point of good thinking narration. It fits a bit with what I'm trying to do in making this in vague episode style.
> 
> Plus, you know, who doesn't want to write Charlie? 
> 
> I'm not going to apologize for spelling and grammatical errors. I'll find them later and be so embarrassed at the public humiliation of not using their, they're, or there correctly at some point I'll want to commit seppuku, so the less you and I think about it the better..

 

**Nameless**

 

 

 

Charlie Bradbury aka Carrie, aka Celeste kept a sharp eye out as she drove a back road that flowed between two natural springs. In her former life this would have seemed absurd, at least the kind of thing her character would do in a particularly fantasy driven Pathfinder campaign. But since she met the Winchesters and realized the good they had done it was something she did all the time, the survey maps of an area showing an unusual amount of Omens tucked in the back pocket of her jeans with areas circled and crossed out..

She’d created a search program, a minor UI with a data mining algorithm and web crawler in the background. It pulled up various locations for her, along with what the actual evidence or omens were and what the likely monster was. She knew Sam and Dean would lecture her, or possibly yell at her, if they knew she was doing this but she was prepared for it. She hoped for an adventure and this seemed the best way to get one.

She ignored the places that were most active with Omens, assuming Sam and Dean would come to those. She also ignored signs of things she wasn’t sure she could handle, even with her high powered database cross referencing every form of weapon that she knew of against it. She hadn’t seen a lot of action, after all and she wasn’t suicidal.

This place hadn’t been overwhelmed with Omens but they were distinctive and odd. Weather patterns flowing against the wind, purple lightening out of a clear sky, more lightning induced fires than you’d expect. When her program was faced with puzzling out the kind of monster she was dealing with it hadn’t been able to come up with anything. This was interesting. So far the thing had a 100% accuracy rate on the ones she could double check. It smacked of mystery and adventure and likely no hunter would be worried enough about it to check it out.

Which is how she found herself driving a questionably acquired red hybrid on a winding country road in the middle of Appalachia looking for something unusual, something off putting-

Something perhaps like the nearly naked girl wandering down the side of the road.

She braked as soon as she saw the girl. She knew intellectually it could be a trap but her heart had lurched and her actions weren’t actions she had control of. They were the actions of a Hero and she might have been pleased to know it. The girl was limping, her arms wrapped around her shivering almost bare breasts. She was barefoot. And when Charlie stopped the car and dove from it engaging the emergency brake on her way out, the girl spun, holding up her hands as if expecting something to hit her.

Charlie shrugged off her jacket, holding it out while staying far enough back not to scare the girl, “Hey! Are you okay?” The only thought Charlie had as her breath fogged in front of her was how cold the girl must be. She was not wearing much at all. What looked like a stripper outfit designed to make it’s wearer look like a sexy teenager. If you were being gracious, that is. Now she could see the girl better she realized she wasn’t a girl at all but a woman. An adult but small. Maybe five two in three inch heels and under one hundred pounds.

The girl took several steps back, She looked scared, unsure of what to do, “I didn’t hear you.” She said.

Charlie, being of above average intelligence if she did say so herself, looked at the girl’s feet and legs caked with mud, the blood running from a cut on her cheek, and sticks and other forest debris caught in her dark hair and realized what this meant. The girl wasn’t deaf. The girl had been hiding most of the time in the woods on the side of the road. Maybe even walking in them. And only coming to the road when she couldn’t hear any traffic.

And the hybrid car ran almost silently down the earlier hill.

She was scared and expecting someone coming up the road to hurt rather than help her.

“Is someone chasing you?” Charlie asked.

“Probably.” The girl said, her hands still up, still backing up. Backing toward the woods.

“Take my jacket. It has my phone in it, you can call the police.” Charlie said.

“No.” The girl said, “No police.”

The conflict Charlie felt at this was deep and almost soul tearing. On the one hand, she didn’t want to go to the police either. On the other the more she looked at this girl the more she realized the police might be needed. The girl was pale almost to death, her skin literally the color of cream. It was perfect and radiant even as pale as it was and as it turned a slight blue from the cold. Charlie stared, she couldn’t help it, and the next revelation was startling. Not only was she pale, but the skin on her arms and legs and abdomen was silvered with old scars. The were lined and intersected with the complexity of Irish knot-work if run through the mind of Lovecraft. They looked like torturous decorations and almost induced a bit of nausea when you stared at them too long. As if they were pulsing.

“Oh no.” Charlie said, her hand coming up to cover her mouth ,”What happened to you?”

The girl crossed her arms over her breasts, her teeth clattered with cold. She just looked at Charlie.

There was a moment where Charlie was holding out the jacket and the girl shivered and they were both silent. A crow cawed in the silence. It brought Charlie back to her senses.

“I’m Charlie; would you please take my jacket?” Charlie asked, holding out the leather jacket, decorative novelty pins at all. At first the girl seemed like she wouldn’t then she dashed forward, snatched it out of Charlie’s hands, and ran back again. She shrugged it on, keeping her gaze on Charlie. She checked the pockets, pulled out the phone.

Her voice was uncertain as she spoke, “Thank you.”

“Who are you?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know.” The girl said. She looked around her, looked back at Charlie and bit her lip. Charlie reflected this might have been attractive under other circumstances, but for now it was merely heart breaking.

Charlie wanted to pursue the subject but realized it wasn’t the time, “I want to help you.” She said, “But if you want to get warm we should get in my car and talk.”

The girl took a step forward, stopped, and then spoke, “Do you have any water in your car?”

Charlie startled, nodded, “A couple gallons of distilled, just in case. Can you tell me-”

“Bring one.” The girl said. It wasn’t a question exactly, but it was a command that was rooted and panic and so Charlie’s natural urge to balk at anything anyone told her to do didn’t kick in. Instead she responded to the panic.

So she ran, opened the trunk, pulled a gallon of water, and ran back.

The girl moved quickly. She lightly ran the dozen steps to Charlie, took the water, and skittered backward. She lowered her head to the water giving Charlie a good view of her oddly elaborately arranged hair. Braids and curls fell around the smaller woman’s face as she leaned to the water, whispered, then performed the sign of the cross over it. After that she laid it on the ground and took a few steps back from it. She looked at Charlie and with nothing but seriousness in her eyes said, “Drink.”

Charlie drank without pause, laid it on the ground. Finally the girl came forward and drank too, but out of thirst. once she was through the entire gallon she looked at Charlie, “I’ll get in your car now. But we can’t stop. There are thousands of demons around here. And I think at least a few of them know who I am. God’s not listening.” Her gaze looked distant, then she shook her head, looked back at Charlie, “Sorry. You’re just human. I’m probably crazy.”

Charlie felt herself almost laugh. She’d come here expecting, well, honestly, maybe something magical and not evil. Something charming or challenging. But ultimately something harmless. This was not that or so it seemed.

Loaded into their car the woman pulled on the seat belt, “I’m sorry about the state I’m in. I had to leave in a hurry.”

“What are you?” Charlie asked locking the doors.

The woman was taking down the braids, pulling both autumn leaves and golden and diamond pins from it. It tumbled around her shoulders, “I was an angel. I don't know now.”

“Not even your name?”

“He took it from me.”

“Who?” Charlie asked, turning the car on.

The woman tilted her head and the black hair that had been blocking her eyes shifted and revealed astonishingly green eyes. Charlie wasn’t sure, but she believed they might be softly glowing. “You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

“I’m a trainee.” Charlie said, “Or Hunter in training, if you’re going to get all Hannibal quotey about it.”

“Hannibal?” The woman’s eyebrows moved up and together a bit as if she were trying to puzzle out something, “Roman…?”

“Nevermind. Yes, I guess I’m a hunter. And you’re an angel. What happened to your, uh, vessel?” She pulled forward onto the road in the direction the woman had been walking.

“This isn’t my vessel.” The woman said. Charlie was about to ask her something else when her phone rang. The woman was still holding it and startled looked down, “There’s a picture on this, suddenly. A very attractive woman with a very ugly dog.”

“That’s a member of my book club. Just press end.”

The angel looked down at the picture, “Can humans genetically splice dogs and naked mole rats now?”

Charlie laughed despite herself. The woman noticed this and smiled a bit, “Did I say something inappropriate?”

“Not exactly, that’s an ugly dog.”

“Good. The inside of this car is pleasantly warm.” She said, then shrugged off Charlies jacket, “I think I may have soiled that. I’m sorry.”

Charlie looked over, meaning to tell her it was fine, and found herself facing those scars again. She noticed how there was a fading bruise on the cheekbone. And what she had taken for a necklace, a gold and black bit of jewelry sat in the center of a scar around her throat. There didn’t seem to be a clasp.

Swallowing, to keep from crying or screaming, she looked back at the road.

The girl must have been watching her because she spoke, “He’d heat it up sometimes, the metal on the collar. I’m afraid of burning, you see?” She spoke flatly as if she were just trying to make conversation over some designer jewelry. Charlie knew a little about angels. She knew how oblivious they could be. She also knew about abuse. She’d seen a lot of it in a lot of communities. This woman was a textbook case of both.

“We need to take you to a hospital.” Charlie said, her throat was dry and her voice rasped.

There was a long pause from beside her, “No. I need to go to a holy place. I need to pray away from here.” The girl’s voice was fading. What Charlie had at first thought was caused by a cough was clearly caused by something else. Her voice was the throaty style Janice Joplin used.

Charlie looked over at her again. At the girlish outfit. And as her eyes went down she sucked in a breath; the soft silk thong was stained red between the girl’s legs, “You need help.” Her voice caught and a tear made it down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily, “You...you need help.”

She looked over, expecting an argument.

The girl had her head against the window, her hair was in her face. Charlie wanted to think she had gone to sleep, but in the silence of the car she could hear the girl’s breath. It was ragged and wet sounding. She was sick. And the redness between her legs had spread. Charlie wondered if vessels still had their periods. She hoped so.

Oh god she hoped so.

She pressed down on the accelerator and asked her phone for directions to the next hospital over the state line. It would take hours. Before she got there the sun had gone down.

She was pulling the girl, who was small but incredibly heavy from the hybrid car , screaming for the paramedics to come out.

Overhead thousands of shooting stars fell.


	8. Underneath These Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling stars, a damaged angel, and a lack of Winchester help. Sorry I was gone for so long, for those of you who noticed. It's been an interesting year.

“Answer, dammit.” Charlie hissed as she tried Dean’s number once again. She paced back and forth in the relative silence of the emergency room. Everyone who could be spared had gone outside to watch the meteor shower. She wondered if that might not be what was responsible for her phone’s malfunction. 

She tried him another half dozen times before again checking with the grumpy looking receptionist, “The girl I brought in, how is she?” 

“Are you related?” The receptionist asked. For a second Charlie considered lying and saying yes, but she’d already admitted she didn’t know the girl’s name so she shook her head. The receptionist sighed, “We can only give out information to relatives.” 

“Oh.” Charlie sighed and turned back to her phone. No missed calls. For a second she considered leaving. For one thing, the police were no doubt on their way and she could do without running into them. On the other hand this not only seemed like a case but the girl was alone. And clearly had been hurt in ways Charlie had chosen never to think about. 

So she dialed Sam. The phone yet again went to voice mail. 

Charlie paced the waiting room, feeling helpless and useless. Until her phone alerted her that the hospital had wifi along with it’s own private network. She smiled. At least she could figure out some of what was going on. She ran out to her car, yanked open the back door, and pulled her laptop from her bag, flipping it open. She was opening the second of a few penetration testing apps she had when she noticed the people who had been standing outside in the parking lot were suddenly going inside. At first one at a time, but then the entire group turned and went back into the hospital. They all were chattering among themselves animatedly. Something more interesting than the meteor shower had happened and Charlie had a sinking feeling she knew what it was. 

Charlie closed the laptop and tucked it under her arm, moving toward the ER entrance, when the police car pulled up. It parked directly next to the entrance and Charlie passed it trying not to look suspicious. Her passage coincided with the doors to the patrol car opening. A distinct smell of sulfur filled the air as two men got out. They barely gave her a glance as they pushed past her.

Dammit. This was getting complicated fast. 

She made it inside in time to hear raised voices from the treatment rooms of the ER. The voices were colored with disbelief and excitement. 

The cops went up to the receptionist, one pulling a badge from his pocket. Charlie knew she only had a few seconds so she simply walked briskly passed the receptionist desk and down a hallway, looking for a linens closet of some kind. She could dress up and slip into the ER as a nurse to see-

The door directly in front of her and to her right crashed open and the girl ran out. She was in a hospital johnny and there was an IV in her arm, the tubing from it trailed along behind her along with a light patter of blood from where the flexible plastic tubing attached to her arm. She had a little more color in her cheeks but when she looked up at Charlie her gaze was blank and frightened.

“Charlie?” She whispered.

“It’s me.”

“They’ve almost got me.” She said, reaching out and grabbing the taller woman’s arm, “I have to get out of here.”

“I’m sorry I brought you.” Charlie said, her voice tinged with an apologetic urgency that made her feel out of control and therefor made her angry. It was proving to be an emotionally confusing day.

“You didn’t have another choice, I know. Thank you.” The girl said, and turned away from Charlie, her bare feet pounding down the hallway. Charlie was so startled that it took her a second to start following. Once she did she could hear the sounds of outcry from the ER behind her. Then the gruff shouts of the two policemen. 

“Wait. Where are you going?” Charlie called, running to catch up. The woman didn’t even spare her a look.

“The Chapel.” She said, “I asked the nurse where it was. I need to get there.” 

“The Chapel?” Charlie repeated, feeling like things were spiraling rapidly from slight confusion into total.

The girl took a sharp right, the sounds of her bare feet almost silent, the end of the iv tubing slithering around the corner like a transparent snake. Charlie followed. She had just cleared the corner when the door the girl had crashed through opened again and the sound of running feet came. 

For being so small, the girl was fast. It didn’t take her long to make it down the hallway and turn another sharp corner into yet another antiseptic corridor. Charlie started to feel a little vertigo. She’d never liked hospitals and this was horrible. The hallways repeating like some kind of nightmare…

The girl made another sharp left, yanking open a door with a tiny stained glass window and barging inside. Charlie came in behind her, “We better block the door.” The girl said, “Can you help me?” She gestured to the three or so pews arranged in front of a simple wooden altar. Charlie was pleased to see more than just a cross on the walls, but she didn’t have time to completely examine it as the girl grabbed one side of a pew and Charlie grabbed the other. They got all three stacked quickly but the girl was visibly paler. 

“What now?” Charlie asked. 

“Now?” The girl asked, she offered a weak smile, staggered over before the altar, and fell to her knees, “Now, I pray. Again. And hope.”


	9. How Not to Check Out of a Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has a few realizations about the girl she helped.

When the girl knelt at the small altar in the Chapel Charlie first noticed her hospital gown was open exposing her back, the curve of her legs. Secondly, Charlie noticed two small, protuberances of a white material from between the woman’s shoulder blades. They seemed to twitch when she moved and Charlie felt light headed as realization came. Either this girl was way into body modification, or someone had removed her wings and left only these bony stubs in place.

That in and of itself was strange. Since when did angels fall with literal wings in place on their backs. Granted, there was a lot about this other world, the one the Winchesters had both introduced her to and saved her from, that she didn’t know. Maybe this was a special kind of angel.

The angel was chanting in Latin, her voice not much over a whisper. Outside the door a barrage of noise. The herd that had been chasing her was running past. Charlie was willing to bet that not all of those chasing were demons. After all, if the doctors had seen those wings…

Well, not even Charlie was sure how most people would react to that. She knew how she’d react to it, but since she was little she also knew she was not “most people.”

One thing she knew was that if this human angel couldn’t get help they were pinned and cornered. And Charlie didn’t like that feeling, especially when she couldn’t do anything about it. Except maybe she could. She looked at the floor where she’d lain her computer so her hands would be free to move the pews and ran to it. She opened it and instead of starting more traditional programs that would simply allow her access to the hospital’s wifi, she ran ones that would allow her access to the hospital’s internal servers. She isolated the chapel, pulled up the layout of the place, and then looked up. According to this damn thing there was a water pipe that ran the length of the hospital and went right over this chapel. She looked up, sure enough the ceiling was a dropped one with acoustic tiles. She jumped up on one of the sideways pews and pushed the tile upward. 

“We can go this way, for now.” She said, jumping back down, talking to the girl even over the latin. She didn’t know if she wasn’t helping, but she did know it wouldn’t take them long to figure out where they had disappeared to. She looked over the schematics again, and decided on the complex plan of turning on the fire alarm. She flipped a switch and outside an alarm started buzzing, “How are those prayers coming along?” 

“Poorly.” The angel said, unfolding her hands and turning to look back to Charlie, “I can hear nothing. I wonder what he’s done to me.” 

“Bookmark that. I want to know who _he_ is, but we really need to flee.” Charlie said, pointing up at the acoustic tiles. The black haired woman looked up, then back at Charlie.

“I can’t fly.” She said. 

“No, we can climb up there.” Charlie said, after a moment of contemplating what at first seemed like a non-sequiter and made more sense when you considered the fact that the Supernatural books pointed out that angels could be remarkably literal.

“Ah.” She said, “That makes more sense. Sorry, I’m not used to talking to anyone.”

Outside something crashed against the chapel door but the lock held. Charlie closed her laptop, three it up in front of her, then looked back at the girl, “Um, angel, I’ll climb up first, then pull you up.”

And that was what they did.


End file.
